


The Fractured Whole

by Lalaen



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Beware ye who enter here, Dark, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Everyone is super messed up, F/F, Fucked Up, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Military Background, Not a Happy Story, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:31:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3393581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalaen/pseuds/Lalaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing is as it seems. The big picture is hidden through the pinhole of memory and history is doomed to repeat itself, even if it doesn't understand what it's doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fractured Whole

**Author's Note:**

> This is not going to be a nice or happy story... definitely not politically correct either. The views of the characters don't necessarily reflect my own (especially Levi).
> 
> I hope someone out there likes dark shit as much as me <3 enjoy

Déjà vu was his constant companion; not so much something that came and left as it did lap against his consciousness in waves. Its strength swelled and ebbed, but it never left him. Not really. If that persistent feeling of foreknowledge was his tide, Bertholdt was his moon. The closer they were, the more he felt like he was drowning. there was always something on the tip of his tongue, struggling to the surface. Something he'd forgotten but could never quite remember. 

Bertholdt would ask him what it was quite often; when he would stare off into space with a look of what he was absolutely sure was uncharacteristically deep thought. He never knew what to say - the words were there niggling at him just beyond his understanding. He'd tried to explain it once, but despite Bertholdt's clear concern he'd been quick to attribute the 'mental itch' to Reiner's condition. 

Admittedly, that did make sense. Reiner's self had only second hand knowledge of what happened during its gaps in memory, and since it was unarguably Bertholdt that kept him the most anchored there was a clear association. It could even be his mind trying to heal itself; inform itself of its secret places. The explanation fit very neatly in the hole of his concern, but somehow it had never sat quite right to him. Though he certainly wouldn't think himself one for florid imagery, Reiner found himself thinking of the puzzles at the orphanage and how they'd always been all mixed up. You'd think you found a piece; it was the exact shape and size it needed to be and it fit right in. Unfortunately, the picture wasn't even from the same box. 

In the unreliable mire that was his memory, Bertholdt had always been there. Under the meek demeanor and antisocial personality there was an unrelenting strength that no one else knew about - they all thought Reiner was the strong one, but he knew different. Under the weight of what they'd been through he'd shattered like bone china. Bertholdt continued to live every day with what Reiner could not even let himself remember. If that did not command respect, he had no idea what did. 

They lived now as state wards. Foster homes would no longer dare to take them; Reiner's condition making him too high risk. It was what had landed them in the group home, ultimately, and although it was clear that Bertholdt did not blame him the guilt still weighed heavy. It had been worse when they first came here years ago, under such tight watch it might as well be Guantanamo bay. Those three months had been the closest Reiner had ever felt to completely losing his mind. With only the occasional glimpse of Bertl in the halls he'd almost slipped away for good; spending most of his time waking up in the padded room with his ass numb from Thorazine. He remembered almost nothing but the haze of the antipsychotics; and how he hadn't been allowed to wear shoes. He didn't know why he remembered that. The floor had always been so cold. 

Now they were allowed 'out' to attend the nearest public high school, something Reiner only considered a privilege because he could be near Bertholdt, even touch him. His strength, his sanctuary. He dreamed of one day taking Bertl away to somewhere they could truly call Home. Where they could do whatever they wanted, and they wouldn't have to be afraid any more. Where they would be free. 

That thought always raised the persistent whisper of the déjà vu to a clamor. It filled Reiner with what he could only describe as a strong sense of nostalgia, though he wasn't sure how he knew what that felt like. There'd never really been much good in his life to be nostalgic about. 

Except how Bertholdt had used to share that dirty mattress with him at night. Out of the few memories that his self had, that was honestly the brightest. 

When they finally went Home, they would share a bed again. Reiner was aware of a general but powerful lust surrounding the idea, though even at seventeen he admittedly knew little about what it meant. What he and Bertholdt were just was, and it didn't match up with any knowledge he had about anything. 

This did not matter to him. 

It was free hour, and though this was the time that the orderlies brought around their medications, Reiner and Bertholdt had been living there long enough that no one was too bothered if they were in each other's rooms. After all, the door was wide open to that stark and brightly-lit hallway as it always was. Reiner watched his silent companion as one of the nurses entered, unsurprised to see them both there. Bertholdt was perched on the side of the bed with his knees up; not in the fetal position but certainly not anything close to relaxed. He was all angles, sleeves of his clingy blue shirt showing at least an inch of bony wrist. He accepted the paper cup obedient as ever; even though he'd been cheeking his ever-increasing dosage of antidepressants for almost an entire year. He'd take the one for anxiety when she left, Reiner knew this. That one he needed. The Zoloft was just a shitty bandaid for a shitty situation. Anyone would be depressed in this fucking dump. 

Reiner's gaze followed his Adam's apple as he swallowed. He could get away with cheeking pretty easy because he'd always been such a good boy. They were a lot harder on Reiner - not that he'd risk skipping medication anyways. He was not losing any of his hard won sanity or his privileges. With all seriousness, he didn't think he'd survive being taken away from Bertl again. 

And the floor was cold. 

...

As much as Reiner appreciated each second that school let him stay out of the home; it wasn't exactly what he'd call a good place. Students and teachers alike seemed to be able to smell the poverty and freak on them. No one would dare pick on them; not with Reiner's size and the tight cords of muscle that showed on Bertholdt's arms even thin as he was. However, teachers never appreciated the tall boy's quiet intelligence and were incredibly quick to call on Reiner to read in class when they knew very well he barely could. 

And no one approached them. There was a tangible barrier between them and even the other outcasts; despite the fact that everyone who actually talked to Reiner seemed to end up genuinely liking him. 

They shared a cigarette behind the portable, Bertl's shoulder resting back against the wall and causing his lean body to create an unexpectedly graceful line. Reiner watched him take a nervous drag before reaching over to take it from his mouth. The slight pull of his lips was strangely sensual, even the brush of shoulder against upper arm as they stood so close something of a treat. The dirty taste of the nicotine was at once refreshing and not; the smoke sliding from between Reiner's thin lips on the exhale felt strangely natural. Bertl trembled with a tiny cough - he'd never been as good at smoking. As always, he could not seem to help but look around almost furtively, afraid they would get in trouble. 

Reiner reached over and casually placed the cigarette back between his friend's slightly parted lips. "Sorry," Bertholdt muttered for no reason at all. He was always doing that. The psychologist at the home called it a compulsive behavior no doubt related to the patient's supposed severe depression, but the antidepressants had never done much to change it. 

Reiner thought he just apologized because he was scared. The preemptive flinch before the beating. In the back of his mind he wasn't sure that was right either, but it made more sense than the shit the professionals said. They didn't understand Bertl like he did. No one could. Even if anyone tried to get close to them; which no one ever would, he would just shut down. 

Leaning in closer again, Reiner placed a hand on that thin chest. He could feel the ridges of bone even through the shirt. Somehow it was so easy to imagine the hot blood flowing under the surface, the vulnerable beating of that beloved heart. A surge of protectiveness rose in him unbidden, and he was suddenly closer than he'd meant to get. He took the cigarette once again from Bertholdt's unresisting mouth, but instead of bringing it to his own he just let his hand hang at his side. The smoke from Bertl's soft exhale curled over his lips and made his eyes sting, but he breathed it in regardless.

Downcast eyes met his. So close he could see everything - those incredibly thick, dark lashes that tried to shield a nervous gaze, the slight pitting and scarring from acne on the sides of his face, just behind his cheekbones. Olive-tinted skin that was made pallid from so much time under the harsh fluorescent lights of the group home. Reiner could still taste the smoke from Bertholdt’s mouth on his tongue, and he felt his lips tug into a smile.

The slightest brush of their lips was stupidly, impossibly erotic. Bertholdt was ready to startle like a deer, incredibly tense in what was no doubt fear that they would be caught. He lived in terror of it and was impossible to calm. 

He was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Reiner found there was something bizarrely calming about it, something in how he knew Bertholdt would act no different if you held a loaded gun to his head. Why would he when he saw life as an impossibly long game of Russian roulette? As Reiner stole his kiss he could almost hear those chambers clicking by. He knew it in his soul they were doing nothing wrong but even his own heart pounded in his chest because he would die if the home took away one more second of their time. They were inseparable, and that was enough. It could be enough for as long as it had to be. 

... 

For someone so fair and genuinely pretty, Annie Leonhardt gave the impression of nothing more than a small dark cloud. Reiner could not remember a time when he didn't think this. It was only more so with the development of what he could admit were some pretty attractive curves. They added what he could only think of as a sense of heaviness to what had once been a tiny waif of a girl. This gave the completely wrong impression - that he thought she was fat - when it was only the best he could do to describe her air of deadly seriousness, her severity. She was genuinely lethal, of that he had no doubt, and it made him glad that she refused to associate with him and Bertholdt. Once he had watched her kill a small litter of abandoned and starving kittens that were found behind the home. He could agree that though the tiny animals tugged his heart strings it was probably best for them; and maybe he could also agree that a quick smash over the head with a rock was more humane than drowning, even if he couldn't stomach it himself. 

She didn't have to smile while she did it. 

Annie skulked around both the home and the high school like a thunderhead, speaking to no one. He knew he should remember her from before, he knew she was there with them. He knew that was probably why she so enjoyed smearing furry animals into the pavement. As much as it unnerved him, he didn't know that he could blame her. If she was a sick fuck, he knew why. He was just surprised the home psychiatrist gave her so many privileges. He must not know the extent of her sadistic tendencies. 

Though Reiner did not really remember her from those days, as he did not remember a lot of things; he remembered the impression of her. He remembered how small she had seemed. 

Males and females were strictly segregated in the home, so he and Bertholdt rarely saw her there. Bertholdt had tried to catch her eye and will her to speak to them with about as much success as Reiner would have expected him to have. Maybe Annie was almost as interested in forgetting about those days as he was. He could blame her even less for that. 

Fourth period lower-level math was an opportunity to stare at the back of Bertholdt's neck that Reiner couldn't completely hate, despite his poor understanding of math. Were Bertholdt not in his class, he probably would have needed to be in remedial. Bertholdt was on the other hand entirely too smart for the class, but could not leave Reiner - and honestly, none of the teachers cared enough to notice he shouldn't be there. It was a symbiotic relationship. Reiner had learned this term in middle school science, and it fascinated him - when two things so completely different relied on each other so heavily that either one would die alone. 

He quietly attached the term to himself and Bertholdt. 

Math class was a good place to ponder things like this because he wouldn't understand what was going on until Bertl explained it later anyways. The back of the boy's loose v-neck dipped tantalizingly at the base of his long neck, more elegant no doubt than he knew, and that was much more interesting.

Another good thing about math class was that the two of them were very rarely picked on in favor of the much more belligerent and disobedient Annie, who would sit in the back corner of the class with her hood up, often with her head or her feet on the desk. In comparison, Reiner did not look quite so much like he should be put on the spot with questions he obviously couldn’t answer. At least he pretended to pay attention. Between Annie’s obvious lack of giving a shit and Ymir’s loud mouth, he wasn’t worth it.

Audible giggling in the back drew his attention to Springer and Braus, yet another reason the math teacher rarely bothered with him. They were always being given shit for something, so much so that it made Bertholdt nervous if he had to sit near them. Reiner knew that no teacher in the whole damn school was stupid enough to blame anyone other than the pair; but he also knew it was not necessarily about taking the blame so much as just that they were really loud and over the top.

The teacher started yelling something about how the rest of the class was trying to learn and did not appreciate disruptions, and Reiner watched Bertl visibly flinch. He did whenever anyone in a position of authority yelled. Reiner was not actually sure that the class did care about being disrupted, because he couldn’t see a single person other than Bertholdt writing notes. Most people didn’t even have a notebook out on their desks. Honestly, even if he had been trying to learn something the noisy environment didn’t bother him. It was no different - if anything it was tamer - than the rec room at the home. Well, there would be no girls there. So he supposed it was a little different.

…

The time that Reiner considered the most free, the most theirs, was that unobserved half hour between the end of school and when they were expected back at the home. Any later and they’d be in trouble, but since they had to walk they were given more time than they needed. As small a time as it was, it was important within their strictly scheduled and structured lives. They were not watched or recorded. There was a childrens’ park that was bordered by a small forest not far out of the way, and that was where they often ended up.

It was honestly rare for them to spend this time feverishly making out, though they were teenage boys and it was undeniable that it did happen. It was much more common for Bertholdt to lay his head in Reiner’s lap and doze off; or for the two of them to quietly discuss something they didn’t want overheard. Bertholdt was very quiet by nature, but when they were completely alone he could sometimes open up; words halting and face turned away. In these times when they could casually touch, Reiner often found his hand gravitating curiously to the nape of Bertholdt’s neck, that place betrayed by the collar of his shirt. It had always seemed so vulnerable to him; and the gesture so safe and protective.

Protecting Bertholdt had always been his foremost desire. He wanted to cradle him in his hands and hold him safe against his own chest, where no one could ever harm him again. As long as Reiner could protect him, he had a purpose. He could find them a real Home.

Now, Home was right here; he thought as he ran a calloused thumb over the place where Bertholdt’s shoulder met his neck, a smooth line of muscle more tense than any teenager’s probably should be. Home could be right here, where the two of them were. Where Bertl didn’t feel the need to apologize and no one watched or judged or analyzed. This was enough.

The feeling of deja vu was back. It snuck up on him when his guard was down and hit him like a transport truck. He turned to look at Bertholdt, a cold sweat prickling between his shoulderblades. He blinked away a double-image of that concerned and almost too familiar face; memories crowding around the edges and trying to break through to the surface.

Bertholdt’s long-fingered hands were suddenly firm on his cheeks. He stared into muddy green eyes that should have brought everything back into focus and prayed for the world to stop. He heard his name, in a more commanding tone than anyone else was ever likely to hear from that mouth.

“Reiner.”

The vertigo was too much. He closed his eyes, his head pounding with the weight of being on the verge of knowing everything. The same voice. The same tone.

“You’re a warrior.”

Then he knew nothing.

…

Levi had a soldier’s tics.

For a long time he hadn’t thought of them that way, because they did not coincide with his time in the military. His dress shoes were always polished to perfection and his desk was wiped down and disinfected - he had an entire drawer full of antibacterial wipes and hand sanitizers. He always stood with his back straight. He took incredibly fast and efficient showers. He shaved his face every day without fail and buzzed the back of his head on Sundays. He took absolutely no crap from anyone. He had a tendency to let his hand fall to his hip whenever something went down.

They were not a soldier’s tics, they were his; and he had many more besides. Nonetheless, he was very aware that there were a lot of things about him that made students and coworkers alike whisper ‘vet’, and they were not wrong.

Many thought it made him a better teacher. They were not wrong either.

He had always been very good at what he did, and right now what he did was teach American History to a bunch of ignorant asswipes that had the nerve to call themselves high school students. He hated his job, but usually not much more than he hated absolutely everything around him.

What he did not hate was his ability to effortlessly inspire fear in a roomful of the rowdiest and most disobedient students. He could control classes with a single glare that sent more seasoned teachers running. He found that extremely gratifying. He genuinely enjoyed the nightmare classes that his coworkers shit-talked in the lounge. He loved the terrified hush that fell as soon as he walked in and he loved to make them squirm. It was those moments in which he knew why, despite his incredible hatred of snotty disgusting children, that he had become a teacher.

It was the most job satisfaction he’d had since he’d killed a man.

…

Levi stared out at his little class of first period idiots, so wonderfully quiet as soon as he walked in. He always started his lower-level classes with a reading of several pages because he knew the monsters would never do it for homework. He had to be there to scare it into them, and that was fine with him. All students but one did at least a convincing job of pretending to read, and that one did not surprise him at all.

Jaeger.

The kid was a fuckup in a sea of fuckups. Even in a class full of screwballs and shitpumps, he was the shining golden turd.

Levi probably knew his students better than any teacher in the school. He couldn’t help it. He had an analytical mind. He didn’t particularly care about them, seeing himself as nothing more than a detached observer watching some interesting specimens. Hanji had called students ‘your little science experiments’, and though Levi wouldn’t have thought in those terms he decided they were apt enough.

There were a couple kids from the local group home, all of them pretty maladjusted and weird. One was schizophrenic or some shit; Levi knew that because he had a special excuse to miss classes. When he was around he seemed normal, if a little stupid; and he was a package deal with the other one. That one was too smart for this shit and knew it, but didn’t want anyone else to. Levi left him alone. The third was a girl that gave such a lack of shit that Levi actually had a modicum of respect for her. Even the army couldn’t save her, no doubt, but she had dignity and that was rare enough.

Springer was chronically stupid and Braus needed a nice firm smack from reality, but they were both easy to scare so they didn’t cause him much trouble. Then there was that obnoxious lesbian. She’d been brave enough to stand up to him a handful of times, and he’d had the pleasure of knocking her back a peg. There were others. Dazz ‘The Spaz’ as he was rightly called, Christian, Matthias, Karin… the list went on to include most of the class.

Jaeger was a cut above.

He wanted to blow everyone up.

Or shoot them. Levi wasn’t sure, as it seemed to change. This kid was sick. Levi knew that he should report some of the things he’d seen and heard, but he chose not to. Smith would have his ass for it, sure, but Levi wasn’t going to run off and report anything to anyone. He wasn’t exactly banking on Jaeger not having the balls to do it, because as far as he could tell the little sack of crap was crazy enough that he just might.

Levi did know that he could handle it. He’d be the first to admit that he was not the soundest of mind himself, and he’d dealt with worse than what this dumb kid could think up in his most psychotic dreams. He kept a gun and a full clip hidden in his desk where no one would find it, and he was more than willing to use the thing.

If Jaeger became a problem, Levi would take him down himself. He was more than capable and more than ready. If the kid found a better outlet for whatever his problem was, then there was no harm done. Levi would not be some pathetic excuse for a teacher getting the school locked down over a utility knife. 

Currently Jaeger was scribbling with impressive fury in his torn up notebook. Levi decided to let this be for now. It was time to start his lesson.

…

The teacher’s lounge was a shitty joke, but Levi had always figured they were all more or less that way. The coffee maker worked, and he made himself a cup in the atrocious mug that Hanji had gotten him for Christmas - bright yellow with a smiley face. He used it not because he thought it was ironic or funny at all, because it wasn’t. He simply wanted to demonstrate how much he didn’t fucking care.

Smith approached him as he stared down the coffee pot. Levi was not terribly interested in his crap right now, as he often wasn’t, but he made no effort to avoid it.

“Good morning, Levi,” said Erwin Smith in that impossibly smooth baritone of his. Most men found him disconcerting in his intelligence, his ability to manipulate. Levi was not most men. 

Erwin was the only man he’d ever met that he considered worthy of his trust.

That did not mean he said good morning. He hadn’t ever said it in his life and he didn’t plan   
on starting. The world was shit on shit and he wasn’t one to lie about it.

He missed leaning into his sniper rifle, putting his eye to the sight, and achieving perfection in one long exhale. There was nothing like that in the whole world. He would’ve never stopped if he had the choice, but he fucked up and is man enough to own up to that fact. He lost the chance to put his talent to use.

Now he mostly made kids shit themselves. That was thanks to Erwin Smith. He owed the man a lot, and he didn’t even hate it as much as he could have.

A few years ago, before he had his arm blown off, Vice Principal Erwin Smith had been Commander Erwin Smith. An outstanding member of the armed forces, he’d been honorably discharged and sent home on the same plane as Levi.

Levi had fucked up, but he hadn’t killed anyone he wasn’t supposed to. He’d been court martialed, but the dishonorable his asshole superior had threatened him with had been only that. He’d gone in alone and that was stupid, but he’d had no way to know that those he’d told to stay behind would die. He’d only been ruled by his pride, a quality that anyone who served with him knew he had in spades.

And that was how the Air Force Commander he’d met on his flight home had turned his Bad Conduct into a Other Than Honorable Circumstances. That man had broke him down and built him back up just like the army had, except this time it was making a blood-crazed sniper into an employable civilian.

Smith knew about the gun in his desk. He wouldn’t say he approved because that wasn’t his way, but he certainly hadn’t told Levi to get rid of it. Hell, he probably had one locked up in his office, too.

Without a doubt it was Levi’s favorite thing about Erwin Smith that he hadn’t said anything after ‘good morning’. What an incredible man he was. 

Levi took a sip of mediocre coffee that would’ve tasted better if it was instant and full of grit. One got used to the grit. Sandstorms got that shit everywhere, up to and including his asscrack.

The florescent lights were giving him a headache. He gave Erwin a myopic look that he hoped communicated the thing about the coffee and the lights, and in return got an understanding smile. He could never quite figure out if the man was just very good at those or if he actually always understood him.

Surprisingly, Levi sort of thought it was the latter. From their first meeting, words had passed wordlessly. Sometimes he lay awake and night and thought about how much he regretted that he’d never had to opportunity to be under Erwin’s command. They could have been magnificent. Levi would have killed anyone for him, and all he’d need was a look.

The banality of the shitty fucking teacher’s lounge threatened to crush him. Silence still made him antsy after multiple years back on American shores.

He felt crazier now than he ever had over there.

....

Christa Renz was the most popular girl in school. She was very proud of this fact. First and foremost, it meant that everyone knew what a good and kind person she was. She was kind! She knew almost everyone in her grade and she made a point of treating them all just the same. Everyone loved her, and she knew it. They called her the Goddess, they called her a Princess, and even the most jealous girls couldn’t hate her. She was too nice.

Of course the best part was how she did all this while embracing her true self - dating the girl that she wanted to date instead of all the men who fell at her feet! No one could fault her for that. Her sweet darling Ymir would wait for her while she finished tutoring the poor, unfortunate students who were failing science; it looked so good on her resume. They’d go back to her house and she would change into a nicer outfit and then they’d go downtown for a few hours. 

She was thinking about wearing her pink dress. She got a lot of stares in that one, it got Ymir really riled up. The other girl would protest it of course, but her mind was so easy to change. After all, how could she get mad when the beautiful girl was on her arm? She couldn’t.

Didn’t she want to see Christa at her prettiest?

Christa tapped her gel pen on her notebook. She drew a doodle of Ymir with fangs and crazy hair. After a moment’s consideration, she added some bold angry eyebrows before labelling it ‘jealous Ymir’. She drew a heart around ‘Ymir’. Then she smiled in satisfaction and capped her pen.

The high-level english class wasn’t very interesting, but she pretended with ease that she was paying very close attention, because she knew that would make everyone around her respect her all the more. Next to her, Marco worked away diligently on his notes; and just behind him, Jean was staring blatantly at the ceiling. Christa frowned. Jean was not a very good student. She would make sure to offer to help him later. 

When the bell rang, she gathered up her books carefully and said friendly ‘goodbye!’s and ‘see you!’s to everyone around her. She had so many friends. 

She fixed her lipgloss in the bathroom before reapplying her smile.


End file.
